Changeling in a Family of Musical Mannequins

Facing the Music

She had been adopted by a family of musicians, famous for their talent, without need of something like her. They adopted her, fully knowing what she was, they still accepted her into their home. Even if they were cold and intimidating, even if they didn't look at her, even if she could feel their silent resentment, even if she might be sold the next day, she loved them. She loved listening to the music they played, and loved the look of all the instruments as they were plucked and strung.

She would watch them play those wonderful instruments, whether they didn't know she was watching or simply didn't care. She had been completely content with this small life of hers, so close to the songs she adored.

That is until the day the family had to leave for an Orchestra. She couldn't attend the Orchestra, she didn't possess an instrument of her own, and like all the other times they had to leave. But that night whilst she was walking through the hallways, she noticed that the door to the practice room was left open, something that rarely occurred.

In a moment of curiosity she peered inside. A myriad of instruments were laid out in all their splendour, her eyes first landing on what she could only call a violin. It was different from other violins as well, crystallized shadow, shaped strangely. Like interlocking plates. Its strings were lined with an ethereal glow, and inside the mechanism she could see more strings lying in wait, this was no simple violin.

Before she even knew what was happening she was holding it, and it felt alive. Gears and mechanisms ticking away under its surface. Twisting it she looked at the handle of the violin, another handle locked into it, though loosely. She didn't know why, but she tugged on that second handle, and pulled out what looked like a long dagger made from the crystal, only to realise that it was the bow after seeing the wire thin glowing string.

She brought the bow to the violin, something she had only seen before today, then she played her first note. It was screeching and loud, a show of inexperience on her part, but the sound was something otherworldly, and everything clicked.

She pulled out the basic practice books, learning the ins and outs, no way to tune it then realising that she didn't need to. And then she began her rehearsal. Starting with a children's song, then moving up from there.

She fell in tune with every rhythm and every song, before finally after hundreds of songs played to perfection, she began to spin her own.

Years went by, she began to be bolder and bolder, sneaking out of her room at night to go and play with feverish determination, right up to the day she got caught. She was in no way illusioned that she wouldn't get caught, they might have known long before now even. Maybe this night was the only night she had spotted them, every single man, woman and child of the family, watching through the door like she once did.

She didn't want them to revoke her of this, but if it was going to be the last she would make it count.

So she played and played, through the whole night, never tiring, playing the songs she had devised. A strategist in a war room, a commander in front of his troop. Fingers like a spider dancing across the strings, spinning her web, filling in any and all gaps, till morning came.

When the rest of the family began to wake up, and began to watch her from the doorway, when her song finally ended, it hadn't been sad. She fought to the last breath and would die a hero's death, the song went faster and faster before cutting off abruptly. Then stood to face them, giving a slight bow.

She set her instrument down, tired but grateful for this last chance to play her final song. She went to bed, walking past the family of musicians that she had come to love so much, despite not knowing if her feelings were returned to her in any way.

She slept through the day and until the next morning, waking up to the sound of silence was certainly disconcerting. She looked through the house, for the family, before stopping by the door where she had played her final song. The violin was where she left it, untouched. Around it they waited, instruments at the ready, the piano had been pulled back stage, and the metronome stashed away.

Tentatively she walked into the room, they stared at her without expression, like mannequins. She picked up the instrument and sat down, looking at the sheets that lay blank before them.

She would play her song again, tentatively at first, growing with confidence, showing all of her colours and dropping her disguise, what was once pale became stark white. They waited then began to join in one by one, they didn't even know each others names, she didn't have one and they never spoke in front of her.

But even though they didn't speak, didn't laugh, didn't smile, the little adopted changeling girl still loved her family.